Thursday, April 22, 2010

You were real

Seven days ago I found out I was pregnant. After two years of maybe we're trying maybe we're not I was pregnant. I sent Craig a picture of the positive test in a text message while he was at work, with the words DO NOT TELL ANYONE attached to the message. You see, 2 years ago, almost to the day I also found out I was pregnant. We lost that baby at 10 weeks.

For someone like me, miscarriage is a direct failure. I try so hard to be capable, to be ABLE. And when my body blatently defies me in the worst way possible I see it as a fault. To tell everyone that I had lost the baby to me was as embarassing and disturbing as if I were telling people I had forgotten my child at the mall.

I immediately called my midwife's office and asked for the 7-8 week ultrasound I was promised if there would happen to be a next time. I kept trying to tell myself it couldn't possibly happen again. Who has a problem with miscarriage after 7 uneventful pregnancies? I ignored the logic that it might be the same person who after 7 pregnancies suddenly finds herself not pregnant after "kind of" trying for 2 years. I tried to ignore the line on the 2nd test I took a day later which was 2 shades lighter than the first.

2 days ago my fears were confirmed again. I went to the bathroom and saw the slightest tinge of blood. And I promptly passed out cold in the pile of dirty laundry in the bathroom. My kids found out I was pregnant because an ambulance had to come for their mother.

And I have sat here, pretty much alone with this aside from a couple of people I have felt safe talking about it with. Because I felt like I failed again. I failed at the one thing I was ever good at, babies. And if I am not good at the one thing I was ever good at, what does that mean?

And you know, I now feel guilt for keeping it a secret. That baby was alive. And it deserved to be acknowledged. And I loved it and I wish it could have stayed and I wish the one before it could have too, and I wish Alex was still here. And I wish I could be a mom of 9 like I should be right now. And to wish that ISN'T being ungrateful for what I have even though my mind tries to tell me it is. To wish that is to acknowledge that I did nothing to deserve this. This isn't failure and it's not my fault.

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